


When the worst has passed

by Shookspeare



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Cramps, Fluff, It's a chaise not a couch cause rich people, Other, Period Cramps, Sickfic, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23358514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shookspeare/pseuds/Shookspeare
Summary: Haruhi gets cramps, but luckily Renge is willing to help.
Relationships: Fujioka Haruhi/Houshakuji Renge
Comments: 15
Kudos: 114
Collections: OHSHC Stories





	When the worst has passed

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know it has been years since ouran ended but I miss them ok. Plus Rengeharu? HaruRen? Do they have a ship name?? This pairing needs more love. I'm suffering with Haruhi cause it's almost 4am and I'm cramping too. Enjoy!

Today would have been a great day. Dad had made rice omelettes for breakfast, the weather was just perfectly balanced in between nippy and heated, and classes had breezed by like the fresh sakura-scented wind. Today _should've_ been a great day. So why isn't it?

  
  
  


Haruhi isn't one to complain. Sure, she voices her opinions and gives input from time to time, like explaining that Tamaki’s dramatics aren't always necessary, or expressing to the twins that their trouble-making could end up breaking something. She wouldn't really call those complaints though.

  
  
  


But today — a day that had all the components of a perfect, easy day — she feels irritable and...tired? She shouldn't be tired; she got a full eight hours last night. Yet, when she begins her slow, fatigued walk to music room three, hears the sounds of tomfoolery happening from inside, she knows they'll be a lot of complaints she'll have a hard time keeping to herself.

  
  
  


_Just get through the day._ Technically, the day is halfway through, she just needs to get through another club session and she can go home and sleep away the fatigue that's pushing on her tired shoulders. It's not like she despises the host club; they're bearable on most days, and besides, they've grown on her. But today — the perfectly not-so-perfect day — she struggles to put up her cheery host act (something that otherwise comes to her naturally) around the club-goers.

  
  
  


“Haruhi, you've got more customers waiting.” As always, Kyoya keeps his gaze cold, uninterested, and in his notebook. Haruhi wishes he was actually uninterested, that way she could get past his radar for even a minute for a well-deserved break.

  
  
  


“Of course,” she replies, standing from her seat at one of the tea tables while Kyoya nods his head to the sofa where two more of her customers sit.

  
  
  


The two girls turn their heads, curls from their nicely styled hair bouncing, and they wave with sweet smiles.

  
  
  


Haruhi takes two steps, three, four. The table she was at isn't much far from the sofa, probably only ten feet. But Haruhi feels her vision go fuzzy around the edges while the room tilts slightly. Her iron deficiency isn't new, she's dealt with it her whole life and she knows to get up slowly, but she's never gotten hit by it this viciously, only times when…

  
  
  


_What day is it again?_

  
  
  


She manages to keep her balance until she reaches the sofa, her hands holding the back of it to keep her legs from giving. There's a familiar ache beginning to form in her abdomen and lower back.

  
  
  


“Haruhi, are you alright?” one of the girls asks, her hand smoothing itself across Haruhi’s forehead. “Hm, you don't feel overly warm, but you're looking pretty pale.”

  
  
  


“I'm,” Haruhi begins, attempting to straighten her posture. “I'm alright. I just tripped over one of the rugs, but I'm ok.” If the cause of this is what she thinks it is, she needs to get to a restroom, or at least somewhere just as private.

  
  
  


“But, um,” She fumbles at first, her words forming and fading, but that won't do, she's studying to become a lawyer after all, and their words can't be mumbled. “I think one of my contacts shifted, I'll just head to the restroom to fix it really quick.” She shuts one of her eyes for authenticity.

  
  
  


From the sofa across the one she's holding onto, Tamaki looks ready to leap from his own seat, much to the annoyed dismay of his own customers. “Are you okay, Haruhi? Do you want me to look at your eye?”

  
  
  


“No, no. That's okay,” she assures, making her way (with slow steps) across the salon and to the haven of the more semi-private area of the music room. She's thankful that the clubroom is actually composed of three rooms, even more so that there's a private, club-member only bathroom.

  
  
  


The lock to the restroom clicks audibly, leaving an echo in the spacious area that, in Haruhi’s opinion, has no business being this luxurious. She figures that after spending so much time attending this academy she'd have gotten acclimated to these sorts of things. Guess not, but, in her defense, what bathroom needed its own chandelier?

  
  
  


Back to business.

  
  
  


Haruhi makes her way into the farthest stall, the flattened heels of her shoes making light _clicks_ against the marble floor. After securing the golden latch on the door, she shimmies her uniform pants down enough to check her undergarments.

  
  
  


And, to her complete and utter dismay, there's spotting.

  
  
  


Her brows furrow in frustration. It's here earlier than it should be. _This is unfortunate_ , she thinks. It's not that she's angry about it happening, she's just upset that she never thought to be prepared for it showing up early.

  
  
  


The aches surge up again and she regrets not thinking ahead; her medicine is at home atop her dresser, and she knows for certain that she doesn't have a spare pair of undergarments (she'd most certainly be deemed a pervert if caught with women's underwear in her school bag) in case the spotting turns into actual flow.

  
  
  


_Why now? Why why why, geez…_

  
  
  


The universe is cruel.

  
  
  


She shuffles out of the restroom awkwardly. Luckily, no has come looking for her yet. Small blessings. She did have enough sense to keep spare pads in her school bag, which was thankfully in the empty room along with the rest of the club’s unused belongings.

  
  
  


Haruhi rummages through her bag in what hopes to be a quiet manner; the last thing she needs is one of the hosts walking in here. But the shuffling of papers and other school supplies becomes near frantic.

  
  
  


_Where are they?_ She knows she packed them. She's positive. They _have_ to be in there; she isn't sure what she'll do if they aren't.

  
  
  


In a last attempt, Haruhi flips her bag upside-down and spills its contents onto the floor for her eyes to scan it thoroughly.

  
  
  


_Yes!_ Wrapped in light pinks and ivories, she clutches it to her chest like it's her lifeline.

  
  
  


“Haruhi?”

  
  
  


Her gut drops. Or that might just be another symptom; they always hit her hard this time of the month.

  
  
  


Haruhi tilts her head, enough to see the person behind her.

  
  
  


Strawberry blonde hair tied up in a bow of pink silk, there stands the host club manager: Houshakuji Renge.

  
  
  


“Why are you in here? Don't tell me you're slacking off and avoiding your host duties.” Renge walks around to Haruhi’s front, the front of the paper mess on the floor. “I won't tolerate lazy behav—" Renge cuts herself off and Haruhi can see the way her hazelnut eyes stop at the wrapped square still in her hand.

  
  
  


“...oh.”

  
  
  


Haruhi is sure her own heart's gonna drop.

  
  
  


She means to speak up, explain or something, but the aches send a pang of intensity through her abdomen that all that leaves her mouth is a short gasp that she tries her best to silence while she clutches her stomach.

  
  
  


Renge stays in place, the only change is the softer expression she wears.

  
  
  


There's a knock on the door leading back to the salon that has both of their heads turning. “Haruhi,” she recognizes Hikaru’s voice on the other side, and to her horror, the knob twists and begins to open.

  
  
  


“Boss is going stir crazy asking if you're okay—”

  
  
  


Renge is there in an instant, slamming the door shut and leaving the twin on the other side of it yelling out a high pitched _“Ow!”_

  
  
  


“Tell him that he's taking the rest of the day off! And no one's allowed in here today either!” Her normal face is back with rage and snake hair as she shouts.

  
  
  


Haruhi thinks she hears Hikaru yell something from the other side of the door, but she doesn't listen too closely since she takes that opportunity to bolt back to the restroom.

  
  
  


Her stomach does an unpleasant flip when another cramping pulse shoots through her belly, leaving aches all over. She wishes so bad that this would've happened in the morning before leaving for school, then she'd just have her dad call saying she was sick, but no, it just had to happen when dealing with the most obnoxious rich people in the world.

  
  
  


She has to take deep breaths to get her mind off of the pain just long enough to stand up without her vision hazing into black. With the pad she didn't have to worry about the god awful thought of staining through her clothes. She doesn't know what sounds worse, getting caught with a stain, or having to explain what it's from. She's already indebted for that vase and this uniform, she doesn't want to add another to the already high price tag of her labor.

  
  
  


She takes slow, nauseating steps to the restroom’s exit once she's finished, taking in nosefuls of air that only momentarily distract her from the discomfort growing more and more intense.

  
  
  


She only prays that there won't be too many loud noises when she goes back out, and that putting on a face that doesn't read _I'm in so much pain_ won't be that hard. She'll have to apologize to the guests for making them wait, too.

  
  
  


She cracks the restroom door open a bit, her fatigued muscles taking their time, only to see an unperturbed Renge standing near the door where she'd pushed it closed, as if guarding it.

  
  
  


The door to the restroom makes a light squeak when Haruhi pushes it open a bit more, getting the attention of the other.

  
  
  


“Oh, I put your things over here,” the other says and steps over to make a grab for Haruhi’s hand.

  
  
  


She doesn't stop her when Renge leads her to the curtained dressing room where the unpleasant memory of being walked in on by Tamaki resides.

  
  
  


“Here, sit.” Renge nudges her to an empty chaise, fluffing the pillows on it as she rearranges them.

  
  
  


“But, my guests are waiting—”

  
  
  


“Didn't you hear me talking to that half-brained twin? You're taking the day off. And no ‘buts’, I'm in charge of the club,” she finalizes. “Now, lay down, and I'll bring you some tea.”

  
  
  


Haruhi means to protest, but laying down onto the comfy cushions is _so_ nice on her sore back.

  
  
  


Renge returns, not only with a table tray, but with a blanket rolled and tucked between her arm and torso. She splays it over Haruhi, the heavy warmth adding a comfortable pressure. “Raspberry tea is my preference when this happens,” she says, pouring the fragrant, steaming liquid from the teapot into the cup. “With raspberry scones to complement it, but all that those crummy hosts serve is blueberry or peach, so these will have to suffice.”

  
  
  


Haruhi didn't even notice the scones sitting atop the tray, nor the array of other desserts piled high. She doesn't have the heart to mention that she's not a big fan of sweets, especially not when the usually loud and snappy host manager is being so...quiet and caring?

  
  
  


_Am I in the Twilight Zone?_ It's baffling to think that this is actually happening.

  
  
  


“Do you usually take painkillers? I can run down to the nurse to get you some. Or if you prefer a heating pad, or both,” Renge asks, taking a seat on the end of the chaise, on the very edge as if trying not to take up too much space.

  
  
  


The contrast between this Renge and the one Haruhi is so used to is like night and day, and she's still trying to convince herself that this is indeed the same person and not some hazy dream from passing out because the electrifying pain of the cramps shooting through her.

  
  
  


“I don't want to trouble you,” she manages before a groan replaces her words as she clutches her stomach from under the cover of the blanket.

  
  
  


“Both it is!” Renge gets up with a determined look. “I'll only be a minute. Drink some of the tea, the warmth helps!” And with that, she's gone, the sound of her heels clicking against the floors echoes and grows faint.

  
  
  


Haruhi manages to sit up enough to reach for the cup poured for her, only getting a few tentative sips before setting it back down in fear that her shaky hold will drop it. It does help, the warmth traveling through her stomach and pained abdomen, but only momentarily. At least the sweet aftertaste of raspberry is a small distraction.

  
  
  


A few deep breaths keep the ache at bay for as long as she's able to not think of it too much, but mind over matter isn't the way to win and she knows it. She's glad at least one person in the host club is taking pity on her (and that's saying something since she's not one who looks to be pitied), even if said person seems to have gone through a complete character change.

  
  
  


Haruhi wouldn't consider it a bad thing, just odd; something she's not used to.

  
  
  


Something she is used to, unfortunately, is the pain licking up her spine from her lower back. The awful cramping is all too soon becoming unbearable, even with the soft pillows and steaming tea warming her core. Sometimes she wonders how she's gotten through it before, each time crashing the same waves of pain as if they're new and being experienced for the first time.

  
  
  


The clicking of heels returns soon, along with the curtain to the small dressing room softly being pulled open to reveal Renge once again, one hand closed around something and the other holding what Haruhi assumes is a heating pad.

  
  
  


That theory is proved right when the strawberry blonde delicately peels the blanket from Haruhi’s form to set the already warm padding onto her lower stomach.

  
  
  


The relief is instant. The pain isn't gone completely, but it's enough for her to unclench her jaw and relax minisculely as the warmth pools. When Haruhi cracks an eye open from where she's lying on her side, there's a manicured hand near her face with two pills in the palm.

  
  
  


“They're made specifically for this kind of thing, don't worry,” Renge’s voice says beside her, a softness still not familiar, but not unwelcome either.

  
  
  


Renge helps her sit up, even holds her teacup while she sips to swallow the pills. She re-fluffs the pillows on the chaise before Haruhi rests her head on them again, and insists on bringing more.

  
  
  


“Video games always distract me while I'm waiting for the medicine to work. I can have one of the butlers at my home to bring one of my consoles—”

  
  
  


“Y-you don't have to do that!” It may just be from the Kyoya-induced paranoia, but Haruhi can't help but feel this special treatment will come with a cost. “Really, in fact, I think I'll be able to go back to hosting in a few minutes.”

  
  
  


“Not on my watch you're not!” Renge gives her a pointed look, reverting halfway back to her usual self. There's no bite, but a demanding attitude gives the impression that those words aren't to be taken lightly. “This is a rest day. In fact, how long does it last for you? That's how many days off you'll take.”

  
  
  


Haruhi considers lying, if she can't host, then she can't repay her debt. But something tells her that the other will be able to see right through it.

  
  
  


“A week.”

  
  
  


It's only the first day that hits her this hard, the rest always go by without trouble. Taking a full week off will be a waste of time.

  
  
  


Haruhi lets out a sigh, the fatigue sinking her head into the pillows and dragging her eyelids down to blanket over her tired eyes. The medicine is kicking in and the vestiges of the tight aches diminish with each breath. Being in pain takes energy, and she's used a _lot_ of energy.

  
  
  


“You should rest, get a nice nap,” she hears Renge say. “I'll stay in the other room and make sure no one comes to pester you.”

  
  
  


Maybe it's because the tiredness is catching up to her faster than expected, but Haruhi’s mumbling out a soft request of _“stay, please?”_

  
  
  


It makes the light click of heels stop before they have a chance to grow faint, followed by a second of thick silence. Then the clicking begins again, loud as if approaching.

  
  
  


It takes effort to lift a single eyelid, but Haruhi manages it and is welcomed with a hazelnut stare in front of her.

  
  
  


“Is there something you need?”

  
  
  


When there is pain, Haruhi doesn't like being touched, shys away from any affection offered. But there's no dull ache at the moment, just an uncomfortableness that's to be expected from this sort of thing. When she was younger, her mom would let her set her head on her lap and run her hands through her hair whenever she had a belly ache.

  
  
  


Cramps are like belly aches, in a way. And though there's not a lot of pain now that the medicine has taken effect, the contact would be nice.

  
  
  


It's a selfish request, she doesn't even expect Renge to agree to it. Something like that is _way_ out of bounds and unprofessional and weird—

  
  
  


Yet when she asks, the other, surprisingly, says yes.

  
  
  


Haruhi doesn't have time to apologize for such an odd thing, she's already being maneuvered to give the other room to sit beside her. Her face feels warm at the sight of Renge looking at her expectantly, patting her lap, though she could just blame the overheating on the blanket and heating pad.

  
  
  


Renge’s lap is soft, not unlike the pillows she's fluffed at least nine times. She's also cool, a pleasant contrast to the heat radiating from Haruhi, though it slowly warms from the close proximity.

  
  
  


When the blunt scratch of fingers start carding through Haruhi’s hair, it's like warmth that turns her to putty. She barely catches the other's question on if the action is deemed alright, only sighing out a sleepy _“yes.”_

  
  
  


Haruhi likes the Renge who’s loud and passionate about what she likes, who doesn't take back talk and will get the job done. She likes this gentle, tentative one too.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://pirozhkiparty.tumblr.com/)


End file.
